


International Fanworks Day 2020

by Eff_Dragonkiller



Series: International Fanworks/Evil Author Day [4]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, Kingsman (Movies), Pride and Prejudice - Jane Austen
Genre: Alternate Universe - Magic, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Zombie Apocalypse, Discussion of Violence, Don't copy to another site, Evil Author Day, F/M, Gen, Historical Inaccuracy, International Fanworks Day 2020, M/M, Magical Species and Conflicts, Religious Imagery & Symbolism, Rough Draft, Still Westeros, The Others - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-15
Updated: 2020-02-15
Packaged: 2021-02-27 21:26:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 19,321
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22722412
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eff_Dragonkiller/pseuds/Eff_Dragonkiller
Summary: The Face of Death (Kingsman):"Code Blue was a rare and unusual situation. Code Red was simple - Agent was in imminent danger. Yellow was simple as well; the situation on the ground had changed, there was the possibility that the Agent had been made. Purple was complete the mission as quickly as possible and report to evac so that Kingsman could get you the hell out of a dangerous situation. Blue was—Blue was for Armageddon."Good Shepherd (Pride & Prejudice):Fitzwilliam Darcy was a magician and when a magical cause is blamed for the King's deteriorating health, it's up to Fitz and a small group of trusted companions to figure out a solution before it kills the Crown Prince as well. They're willing to try anything, even an experiment that takes them to a run-down estate called Netherfield.Say Your Name (ASOIAF/GOT):The Wall was a testament to fear, desperation, and necessity, but though it was still powerful and still stood, there was nothing but snow on the other side. The Others had long since abandoned settlements within the Real Realm to attack from the Nightside. Names remained, though, one of the simplest and most powerful magics that anyone could learn.
Relationships: Daisy & Gary "Eggsy" Unwin, Fitzwilliam Darcy & Colonel Fitzwilliam (Pride and Prejudice), Jon Snow & Arya Stark & Gendry Waters, The Bennet Family (Pride and Prejudice)
Series: International Fanworks/Evil Author Day [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2161815
Comments: 3
Kudos: 46
Collections: International Fanworks Day 2020





	1. The Face of Death

**Author's Note:**

> This is a little glimpse into what I was working on in 2019.
> 
> Don't forget to comment on what you like, because other wise it might end up on the perpetual back burner. No promises though.
> 
> I do have a great surprise coming up, though. I am participating in the Quantum Big Bang! It's coming out in June and I think it's probably my best work to date. So mark it on your calendars, but for now enjoy what I've shared for Evil Author Day. 
> 
> <5/31/20 Edit: I didn't make the deadline for the QBB project for this year; you'll just have to wait until next year to see what I invested my heart and soul in, in 2019.>

Edmund was just meeting the White Witch for the first time when Eggsy's cell rang with the theme from the Sword and the Stone and flashed up on the display was 'Anarchy Calling'. There wasn't a choice in the matter. He had to take this.

"'ello." There was a bit of distortion as the automated dialing system transferred him over to a member of the Anarchy.

"Agent Mordred, this Dagda, please confirm your color and your location."

Concern rising, Eggsy rolled off the couch and padded over to his front hall, grabbing his emergency bag from the closet. "Sky-blue-pink-with-a-heavenly-border, and I'm located at the Raven's Nest. Do you confirm, Anarchy?"

There was the subtle sound of typing before Dagda came back, "Confirmed, Mordred, transferring you to Merlin, now."

Eggsy had once joked that hold music for Merlin should be more like the Imperial March and less like Vivaldi, but the Anarchy hadn't been amused by the suggestion.

"Mordred? This is Merlin, you're Green?"

"Yes." He stepped into the dress pants he'd hung over the bedroom chair and tightened his belt. "But if you're calling me into the Banner, I'm going to need to call the Nanny."

"Mordred, this is a Code Blue." Merlin said rather somberly. "The bairn's coming with you."

Well, that changed his plans rather dramatically. Eggsy finished pulling on shirt and sweater, casual for Kingsman, but good enough for up in the middle of the night, and immediately started towards his sister's room. Best to pack up before waking her up.

"Extraction?"

"A Kingsman taxi is on its way now. Pack enough for the babe for a week or so, but we'll have time to lay in supplies."

"Alight. Anything else, Merlin?"

"Nae lad, just get here safe and sound."

"Roger that, Mordred out."

Code Blue was a rare and unusual situation. Code Red was simple - Agent was in imminent danger. Yellow was simple as well; the situation on the ground had changed, there was a possibility that the Agent had been made. Purple was complete the mission as quickly as possible and report to evac so that Kingsman could get you the hell out of a dangerous situation. Blue was—Blue was for Armageddon. All staff were required to be at their post, and it was heavily encouraged that they bring any family with them.

As far as he knew, Code Blue had never been called on anything less than a global disaster.

Eggsy gently lifted his sister out of her crib and cradled the toddler to his chest. “Alright, Dais’. Time for a bit of adventure.”

\---

Eggsy handed his sister and her supplies off to a woman waiting near the entrance to the Kingsman's tube station. She had the slightly frazzled appearance of Kingsman family, not emergency staff, and held Daisy like she was an answer to prayer. Eggsy figured she was probably someone's wife or sister, daycare worker or Nanny by day, and was so far outside of her comfort zone that taking care of a cranky two year old with a speech delay was better than giving a Kingsman a weapon.

Normally he wouldn’t just hand his sister off to a stranger, but this wasn’t a normal situation. The shuttle from the shop had been cram-packed with staff and their families and the whispered conversations he’d overheard repeated one word ‘zombies’. Eggsy wouldn’t be surprised if Kingsman had a plan for the Zombie Apocalypse, but he needed more information regardless of whether they were sending him out or preparing for an invasion of the dead.

Handing Daisy off was just a smart move. He couldn’t take a baby into the Banner room. The fools he worked with would probably try to put gin in her bottle. Also, Eggsy wasn’t ashamed to admit he didn’t want to deal with the temper his flower was likely spoiling. And the woman had said the magic words, ‘Merlin sent me’. Besides, his baby had a subcutaneous tracker in her foot. He could find her anywhere. Eggsy left his sister was a kiss and went off to find some answers.

He’d been headed to the Anarchy offices, the hub of anything going on with Kingsman when a message over his glasses diverted him to the Banner room instead.

To the knight's surprise, it was Merlin himself in the conference room waiting to brief him. The table covered in half-empty coffee cups, physical paperwork as well as digital, and a single tray of what looked like day-old croissants. Poking his head back into the hall, Eggsy flagged down a member of the support staff.

"Sir?"

"Mate, I don't know what meal services looks like right now, but could you tell them we could use hot food and coffee in the banner room?"

The staffer, older than Eggsy but with the wide-eyed look that came from not having to interact often with the eat-brimstone-and-die members of the Banner and the Anarchy. Nodding his head hard enough it might be aiming to fall off, the staffer was already spinning around when he said, "Of course, right away."

Eggsy felt a little bad because the kid was literally running off and he wasn’t sure the situation was that dire but Roxy was just striding up looking like she’d just walked off the plane and he'd never been the best example of morals anyways.

"Eggsy." Roxy greeted, squeezing in past him, "coffee?"

"There's cold on the table and hot coming."

She didn't wait for the hot but downed a mug of cold while Eggsy watched with a grimace. So gross.

"Merlin, what's the situation?" Eggsy asked as he watched his friend flop onto her Kingsman chair. "Code Blue, you said? Does that require all the knights to be recalled?"

When the Scotsman didn't move or say anything, Eggsy carefully walked around to the Wizard's seat. Booby traps and death weren't exactly outside of the Kingsman's experience. Though he really hoped that the man hadn't expired in the two and a half hours since they had last spoken.

By the grace of a god Eggsy didn't really believe in, Merlin was just asleep. Asleep with his eyes open, which would hurt when he finally woke up, but not dead. Which was honestly a relief. Eggsy hadn't had the chance to ask him out to dinner yet.

Just as the youngest Kingsman was attempting to figure out how to wake the quartermaster without startling him, staff services rolled the requested hot meal and coffee in on a cart. Like magic, Merlin took a startled breath in and blinked a couple of times.

"Eggsy? When did you get in, lad?"

"'Bout half an hour ago, guv." He watched the man go from half-dead asleep to awake and functioning with the fascination he normally reserved for honey pot missions, venomous snakes, and his sister attacking cake. "You do that regularly?"

"What?"

"Pretend you're dead?" Eggsy poured himself a cup of caffeine and shifted the pot over to the half-awake agents.

"More often than I'd like." Merlin offered a smile that was more like a grimace. "Got two different interns to scream in the last week."

"So, this has been building?" Percival clarified as he walked through the doors, leading a gaggle of half-awake and half-dead Kingsman agents. Kay looked like he'd escaped medical only half put back together and Bors collapsed into his seat and started to snore.

Eggsy wondered, as he piled hot pastries and bacon on his plate, when these men had gone from lethal paragons of gentlemanly behavior with no sense of humor to actual living breathing people. Probably about the same time he'd learned that Gawain could belch the alphabet and he'd had to talk Tristan through changing his niece’s diaper.

"Aye," Merlin fairly inhaled his coffee. "It was never quite on our radar. I was watching a couple of avenues when it basically blew up overnight."

"What is it?"

Merlin hesitated, "Perhaps we should wait for Arthur?"

Eggsy was a professional, a professional spy, he was not making a face like someone had shoved a dirty diaper under his nose. Except, looking around the table, he wasn't alone in his distaste.

"Oh, bloody hell, Berger is not that bad." Merlin huffed.

The problem with Chester King had been that he'd had too much power without any balances. A problem, Roxy had informed him, inherit to most espionage institutions. In an effort to modernize the organization, and to apply some balance to the terribly skewed situation that was Kingsman. Merlin had basically found an administrator to take the place of Arthur, because Percival had honestly been the only good option from the Knights and the Anarchy was traditionally excluded from the position. The board of trustees, most of whom were former Knights or members of their families, had suggested Emile Berger. A man with dual citizenship in France and England, an estate, and a degree in politics.

He was smooth, suave, and sophisticated. He could play golf, poker, and debate classical literature like a professional. He looked completely comfortable in a Kingsman suit briefing the Queen on the state of the country post V-day. Berger also startled easily and hesitated often when pressed into sending out Knights to do assassinations or honeypots. He didn’t like guns and was proving not to have the moral flexibility to be a successful Arthur. There was Kingsman-wide betting pool about what and who would break the pool fool.

"Ah, Merlin, were you holding the briefing for me? You shouldn't have."

Speak of the devil and he shall appear. Complete in a three-piece suit in paisley. Eggsy refused to wince, he was a _professional_ , but made a mental note to go treat himself to a new suit and let Andrew make all the decisions. The man deserved a reward for having to make that monstrosity. There were people who could pull off paisley suits, Harry maybe, Hannibal Lector definitely, and Emile Berger not at all. He couldn't even lie to himself. Everything from the button placement to the double stitch near the cuffs screamed Andrew's workmanship.

Brown eyes took in the room and stalled on Eggsy, and as oblivious as only an administrator could be in a room of spies and assassins, he didn't see the knights stiffening. "Agent Mordred, what are you wearing? Kingsman has an appearance to cater to, you know."

Eggsy resisted the urge to shift or fidget. It wasn’t like he was in a tracksuit, just a bit more casual than might be preferred.

"I was unaware that emergency briefings in the middle of the night had a dress code of anything other than 'whatever's on hand’ and ‘bulletproof'." Roxy drawled peering over her sunglasses to stare coldly at 'Arthur'.

Berger paled a bit and took his seat, King’s ridiculous throne, in a bit of a rush. "Well, perhaps we can excuse it this time."

"Perhaps." Percival drawled with lazy killing intent.

Eggsy felt a little bad for Emile. It wasn't his fault that he was a Shih Tzu trying to take command of a pack of wolves. It wasn't like Eggsy was offended by Emile's power plays; he honestly couldn't care less. It wasn't like he could lose his job. There was a list of reasons that a Kingsman could be 'forcibly retired', which really meant that the organization arranged for a lethal accident to befall him, but not obeying the dress code in the manor was not one of them.

It did give him a warm and fuzzy feeling that his fellow Knights were protective. He figured they thought of him as more like a fuzzy puppy, not quite grown into his paws or his fangs, but he didn't mind. They weren't condescending about it. And Bors had thanked him for taking over the 'low-brow shit' because he couldn't 'fake the estates with directions'. Which Eggsy thought was hilarious. True but hilarious.

"The problem, Merlin?"

The Scotsman nodded and queued something up on the screens. "Glasses, knights."

What played across the portraits was a set of truly ghastly video clips detailing hundreds of people and dozens of locations. "What is this?"

"An outbreak of a viral infection currently known as Solunam 3. Originally, experts thought it was a new strain of rabies - or an old one - Kingsman has more than one record concerning some idiot who dabbled in rabies or the plague. But chatter from official sources say that it's not so clear cut."

Eggsy watched a dude claw and chew at a woman backed into a corner of an office and blurted his first thought, "Zombies?"

"Agent Mordred, this isn't some fodder-all from a comic book. This is -"

"Zombies." Merlin blandly interrupted, Roxy snorted and Arthur's face just kind of spasmed. "The Anarchy has been tracking recent outbreaks of the virus and the official chatter. An algorithm designed by a Cal Tech professor has it spreading to all corners of the globe within the week. Worse, it appears to be mutating - the time from initial infection to reanimation is now down from twelve minutes to approximately three."

There was silence around the 'round table' and Eggsy internally groaned, "Alright. I'll be the bad guy. How is this our problem?"

To the left of Arthur, Percival smirked. "Quite right, Mordred. Merlin, this doesn't appear to be something within our mandate. Have you forwarded this information to MI5?"

"This is the end of the world!" Emile Berger burst. "That is exactly the kind of situation Kingsman deals with!"

"Yes, but man-made disaster," Bors said, lifting his head just enough to prop it on his forearms and squint at Arthur. "Terrorists and tyrants, we can handle. Mad scientists, environmental activists with a propensity for dirty bombs, evil geniuses who build lairs on remote islands and then fill the water with mechanical fiends. Any and all of the above we can do - have done. But a viral outbreak? Even if it is something man-made, and you would authorize the type of action necessary to halt the spread - we don't have enough people. Certainly not enough to hunt down and kill several million people in time for them to not continue infecting others. Assuming of course, that the virus couldn't just spread from the dead bodies."

Emile was clearly stunned and there was silence for a quiet moment before a list popped up on the screen.

"These are the current outstanding tasks," Merlin informed the Knights. "I have tentatively assigned them as I thought made sense. If you have personal or professional reasons to avoid or desire a particular assignment; work it out amongst yourselves. The Banner Corps is of course at your disposal and handlers are operating within the Anarchy. I - just need some sleep."

Roxy offered the quartermaster a fresh cup of coffee but Merlin rubbed at tired eyes. “If I drink more now, Lancelot, I’ll never get to sleep.”

“Sweet dreams, Merlin.”

\---

Eggsy had been assigned the evacuation of the Royal family with Percival and Lancelot, so without more consideration for his employer than a backward glance—enough to see still shell shocked in the wake of the meeting—Eggsy headed out to get equipped.

"You got any family to worry 'bout, Rox?"

"No." She handed over the equipment bags, Andrew had already pre-packed for them. "It's me and Uncle Morgan. And he’s Percival. The family disowned him for being gay and disowned me for not caring." She snorted, "Jokes on them. Mertal and Clive, my cousins, have been trying for years to get the attention of Kingsman. They can't even get in the doors."

Eggsy cackled, "I'm not sorry."

Roxy offered a sly smile, "Neither am I."

For once in his career, shit for once in his life, the evacuation of the Royal family went smoothly. The immediate family was the concern of Eggsy, whereas Roxy got to escort the Queen. He vaguely heard Lancelot explain to the Queen that she was superior at being a bamf and they simply hadn't had any choice but to choose her for the new Lancelot.

"Mordred," came Dagda's voice in his ear, "the little princess looks like she could use some distraction before she starts wailing."

"Ah," Eggsy murmured in reply. "See it."

They were waiting for the helos to come in. Perhaps not the most fashionable way to transport the royal family, but the Queen had been emphatic. The whole household had to get evacuated if she was leaving. Including the dogs. There was more than enough time as they waited for transport for the fear the adults were feeling to seep down into the children.

"'ello little love," Eggsy said as he crouched by the princess. "That's a wonderful stuffy, you have there. What's his name?"

"Merwin," the princess mumbled while chewing on a corner of the teddy bear - dressed as a wizard, complete with hat and wand.

"Of course it is." Mordred smiled, and the little princess smiled back. Forgetting for a moment that she was scared enough for tears. "Merlin's the best."

"Oh my god," Dagda whispered in his ear. "Please take a picture for posterity. And Merlin. He's going to blush so hard."

Eggsy reached up to do just that when movement at the corner of his eye caught his attention. "Dagda do you see that? There's something moving on the lawn."

He moved as he spoke. Sliding in front of the little princess and her family. The change in his body language drawing Percival and Lancelot's attention as well. There was something there.

"How far out are the helos?"

"5 minutes."

"We might not have five minutes." Eggsy smoothly unholstered his weapon as one of the things he'd seen on the lawn stood to show that at one point it had been a portly old man. But now was missing most of his face.

Eggsy didn't miss.

\---

Eggsy needed a shower because he had not gotten through the fight on the Balmoral lawns without getting covered in zombie goop. Unfortunately, the first person he saw coming back from Balmoral to Kingsman headquarters was Alisha, Arthur's secretary.

"Arthur would like to see you, Agent Mordred." She said a stoic look on her face but Eggsy could see the tight clench of her fingers on her notebook and the quiet flare of her nostrils.

"I would be happy to see Arthur. After I have a wash." Eggsy said as he was prodded by medical staff towards the quarantine area.

"Arthur said he needed to see you as soon as you got back." She said firmly.

"Oh, absolutely not." The head of medical, Doctor Michael Sowes said coming up from behind. "Agent Mordred needs a shower in quarantine and an exam before he can begin debriefing. You can go tell Arthur that he can hang on a hook for all I care."

Eggsy happily went with the Doctor, but the problem became that Alisha was back, or had never left, the minute he was done. "Arthur wants to see you, Agent Mordred."

So, with a sigh, and a promise that the posh asshole was not going to be happy to have him before he took a nap, Eggsy followed the woman deeper into Kingsman headquarters. "Did he mention what it was about."

"No."

Well, that was a bit of stonewalling, wasn't it?

\---

Eggsy stared hard at the posh bastard behind the chair and wondered if Merlin would yell at him if he killed another Arthur. "You want me to assign a guardian to my sister; so that she can be evacuated from one of the safest places left in the UK and Kingsman headquarters can be turned into a military base."

"It's quite simple, Mordred." Arthur leaned back in his fucking chair. "I've decided that the best use of Kingsman resources to directly attack these ... zombies. Turning Kingsman over to the military is just the next most expedient step."

"No."

Emile Berger gave Eggsy such a bullshit patronizing smile that it was just asking for a punch in the face. "It has to be done, Gary. Either you do it, or you quit. We wouldn't want-"

"Don't worry." Eggsy's grin might have had teeth, "I'll get it to you in writing sooner than later, wouldn't want your schedule to get thrown off!"

Perhaps it wasn't the most professional or diplomatic way of expressing his opinion to his soon-to-be former employer, but he had been hired because he had what it took to save the world when it got down into the nitty-gritty. Not when it needed to be saved by words. As, Dagda, his preferred handler if Merlin wasn't available, was fond of saying: Kingsman was full of the kind of smooth-talking sophisticated letches that could be given those sorts of missions, not so many could read a room the same way Eggsy could. And he was getting even better at it with experience in all levels of society.

Or at least he had been. God knows they'd be able to replace him now if they wanted to. If that was even the direction that Kingsman was going in anymore.

When he got to his rooms, his sister still at the babysitters, he leaned back against the door and allowed himself a moment to just grieve for the lost opportunity. He'd been getting to know his co-workers. Learning just how dry Percival's humor could get, and how grumpy and asshole-ish was basically Boris's default. And Gawain was a certain type of mad. Not bad, just maybe not safe choice as a babysitter. He'd been making a home out of Kingsman, finding a family where perhaps his upbringing wasn't on the same level, but after hours no one gave a shit, and at work they only cared because it gave him a different set of skills. Now it was gone.

He leaned back against the door and grieved. Then he took a deep breath and started to pack. If the civilians were getting kicked out, then Eggsy could imagine that there weren't going to be as many good options for shelter available in the near future. So, he started with the worst in mind, active warzone with a baby in tow.

His bag was half-packed with Kingsman-issue toiletries and bullet-proof fabrics, and Eggsy had been considering if he'd be able to ask Andrew for a couple of grow-with-her outfits in the material for Daisy when a perfunctory knock came at the door.

Eggsy stared at the door. He knew that knock. That was Merlin's you-have-30-seconds-or-less-Agent knock. God damn Emile Berger if the asshole woke the quartermaster of Kingsman up to play harass-the-resigning-agent. "Come on in, Mer'. It's open."

"You're a fucking lying liar who lies," the tech wizard was grumping as he shouldered his way through the door, still staring at his clipboard. "It was not open. I had to open it. Medical said you weren't hurt more than bruises. You couldn't have taken two minutes to walk across the fucking room to -" He frowned hard, staring at the packing on his bed. "What the fuck is that?"

Eggsy raised his brows, maybe Merlin wasn't here to do his out-processing. "What does it look like, Merlin? I'm resigning from Kingsman. I don't know when the transport is taking the civies, so I need to be packed and moved so I don't miss it."

The head of the Anarchy stared at him, "You're speakin' English, I hear it. But it ain't making any fucking sense."

Eggsy smirked, just because he was leaving didn't mean he had to go quietly. "Emile has decided to give the resources and physical building of the Kingsman Estate to the British Military. This means that all civilians currently inhabiting the premises are going to be relocated. Including Dais'. Emile was all sorts of apologetic when he insisted that I needed to sign over guardianship. I said I would leave before giving her up." He waved a hand at his packing, "so here I am leaving." He cocked a hip against the nightstand and watched the other man work through it. "Hey, how much do you think I could smuggle out of here in a backpack? I was thinking of raiding the armory."

"Not fucking enough." Merlin ground out before he spun out.

Eggsy went back to packing with a malicious smile on his lips. It wasn't nice using his friends as a weapon against his former employer, but then Eggsy wasn’t a nice person.

"Eggsy! What the fuck?!" Merlin's voice resounded down the hall. "Come with me."

Startled, and a little unsure if he wanted to beard the lion in his den, again, Eggsy sighed and finished folding a shirt before slipping out into the hall and following the sound of the angry Scotsman. Everything he'd said had been the truth, it wasn't like he was about to be caught in a lie, but he'd prefer not to see his friend turn against him for the 'well planned and logical hand over of power'.

Except, Merlin didn't lead him to Arthur's office. They ended up back in the Banner room where the whole shitshow had started 48 hours ago.

"Mordred," Percival greeted coolly, but Eggsy didn't mind. Roxy’s uncle did just about everything 'coolly'. "You haven't missed anything."

"Actually," Eggsy shrugged with casual confidence he didn't really feel. "It's just Eggsy. I've resigned."

"At a time like this?" Boris growled, and Gawain just about snorted whatever very alcoholic substance was in his flask.

"Is it about Dais'?" Roxy frowned. "Has someone tried to claim her?"

"Our former-agent has made the self-sacrificing decision to follow his sister," Emile said from Arthur's chair. "We can only commend him for his familial loyalty, but," he offered a patronizing smile that was probably trying to come off as 'gentle' or 'compassionate' but just looked constipated, "this is a meeting for the Banner, of which you, Gary Unwin, are no longer a member."

"Are you off your fucking rocker?!" Merlin finally asked tone near glacially cold as he reached back and grabbed a hold of Eggsy's arm before he could do something silly like follow this jumped up twit's command.

"I don't care if you are Arthur, you don't have the authority to make those sorts of decisions. Not without the approval of the board and the department heads." Merlin smirked, "Which I dearly doubt you have because three-quarters of those would qualify as a 'civilian'."

Emile didn't look so confident now, and Eggsy might be a bad person, but he was greatly enjoying watching the asshole fidget under Merlin's attention.

"It's as good as done." He stuck his nose in the air. "Authorized as Arthur, you can't do much about it."

"That's not nothing," Percival said quietly as he took in the scene, his brilliant mind ticking away behind the Kingsman issue glasses. "Hmm, Boris - would you say that Arthur is exhibiting behavior befitting a modern knight?"

Gawain smirked slowly, "You might even say that refusing refuge to civilians would be unchivalrous."

"Ooh," Roxy resettled in her seat excitedly, "And giving Kingsman resources away without a mission or explicit agreement in place beforehand as to the sale or return would be against Kingsman bylaws."

"Yes, it would," Merlin remarked absently, his attention focused on his tablet.

"Such behavior could just be fear." Eggsy pointed out uneasily.

"But irrational and erratic decision making in the face of such information could be early signs of a psychotic episode," Percival noted calmly, examining the stand-in Arthur like one of Harry's pinned butterflies. "It would be reckless of us to leave him in charge if that were the case."

"Hmm," Roxy smirked, "I'm more than willing to woman up for such a cause. Gentlemen, all in favor of the suspension of Emile Berger as Arthur, say 'aye'."

"Aye."

"And those against?" The room was silent, and Eggsy thought he saw tears in Arthur's eyes. It made him feel a little bad. But he was going to have nightmares for the rest of his life with the faces of the dead in them. His Daisy shouldn't have to worry about that. "Excellent. Mordred takes your fucking seat. Emile Berger, get the fuck out."

"Lancelot." Percival admonished even as the last Arthur left with a rather hangdog expression. "Arthur could be in a very vulnerable place."

"Please," Merlin snorted, "We wanted him out and we needed him out in a way that the board couldn't say no to. We knew it and he knew it."

Eggsy settled back in his seat near the head of the table, "So, new vote for Arthur?"

"We're stuck in the same place we were after King died," Gawain complained.

"Not to mention that the rest of the knights aren't here," Boris muttered.

Merlin smirked, "I have a slightly ridiculous suggestion."

Lancelot smiled back, "We're all ears, Merlin."

He tapped away at his clipboard before one of the nearby screens showed an awfully adorable toddler in a pink sundress. An awfully familiar toddler in a pink sundress. "Oy! That's my flower, Merlin. Not a candidate for Arthur."

"There are no actual requirements for the position of Arthur." Percival was saying as he examined the tech wizard in mild surprise. "Not even age or fieldwork."

"You want to use the lovely little lass as a decoy?" Gawain thought. "Have a diaper in the seat until we can get an adult in it?"

"Or just to run around the board," Merlin admitted. "The thing is that it's terribly unlikely that we'll be doing the same kind of work for the next few decades, and honestly, most of Arthur's staff do the work for him. It's not a huge step to make the position generally ceremonial."

"No." Eggsy said flatly. Imagining the type of shite that they would have to accomplish at some point, even if not then. The type of stuff that did require Arthur’s signature and approval. Stuff he wanted his flower nowhere near. Also, the vision of his flower kneeling up in Arthur's chair and babbling to a babysitter with a gun was adorable but ridiculous. "This is still the Queen's England and any position authorized for minors must also be authorized by their guardians, and I say 'No.'"

Percival nodded, a hint of laughter in his eyes. "Fair enough."

"Fine," Merlin said, getting rid of the adorable little one in pink. "Then I nominate Percival to take up the mantel as Arthur and we run a new candidate pool for Percival."

"I don't-"

"All in favor?" Roxy said, speaking over her uncle, the show of hands was unanimous. "The Ayes have it. Congratulations on your promotion, Uncle."

If it had been anyone less dignified than Morgan Morton—say like Harry Hart—the man in the swivel seat, who simply shoved King's ostentatious throne out of the way and scooted over, would have been pouting. Because it was the former Percival, a much more dignified example of gentleman behavior, it was simply something approaching disdain. "You're all going to regret this."

"That's fine," Merlin said, queueing up the next item on the agenda. "We need a new Galahad and a new Percival and my staff should have a completed risk assessment toward long-term undercover operatives in an hour or so. We also need to tell the military thanks but no thanks."

"Or we need a vote." Eggsy offered. "Is there anything we can take to our advantage if the military were stationed here?"

There was silence for a moment before Boris offered, "there would be more cannon fodder?"

"More chances for some sort moronic mistake to break quarantine." Roxy rebutted.

"More targets should an infection break out."

"Less space and fewer resources for our families?" At the sudden looks, Eggsy smirked. "Just because I asked doesn't mean I want it."

Merlin snorted, "Arthur, the consensus among the Banner is that inviting the military to join our headquarters is stupid and gains us nothing but a difficult time."

"Hmm," Arthur-who'd-been-Percival made his face look thoughtful, "Well, our Banner are only second to the Anarchy when it comes to risk assessment. If they all agree then it is likely to be a very risky endeavor. Very well. Inform the necessary people that there's been a change in leadership and the military-Kingsman agreement will not be going forward. However, do make sure to be pleasant. We may need cannon fodder for some plan in the future."

"Aye, Arthur." Merlin agreed with a smirk as chuckles echoed around the room.

"How bad is the situation with the Zombies?" Eggsy asked after a moment. "Does the estate have defensive capabilities?"

Merlin made a face, "They're a bit rough around the edges but Chester King required quite a bit of defensive and offensive capacity towards the end of his tenure. I should've thought to ask what he expected to need it for."

"It's not like you were the only one Merlin." Boris said suddenly, "Kingsman employs the best and the brightest and no one took the time to do more than grumble that King's reign was getting a bit long and bit ridiculous. The protocols for ousting Arthur didn't just appear." Boris wagged his head a little before adding, "Though given the situation it was probably better that Mordred killed him instead."

"So defensive capacity?" Roxy prodded.

"Right." Merlin queued something to the screen and Eggsy was looking at an aerial view of the property. "Given the fact that we were founded in the wake of World War II, the property actually has quite a bit of self-sustainability worked in already. But we're less than set for consumables."

"I thought the store was for five years?" Gawain asked a little horrified, "Did Emile not build them?"

"This isn't going to end in five years, bruv." Eggsy pointed out obviously. Only to see from the expressions of most around the table that it wasn't obvious at all. "A'ight, I'm pulling on shit from like third year, but Merlin can correct me if I'm wrong." He walked up to the screen, it had expanded to a map of the world and as Eggsy poked the UK a bright holographic pin popped into place.

"We're here-ish. But our power, assuming we're not self-sustainable, comes from,” Merlin put the pin in that time. “And our groceries get bought in bulk, but the cheese comes from one farm and the milk comes from another. The eggs and the meat come from another farm. And our vegetables come from somewhere else entirely. And the flour for bread," he zoomed back out to the world just so that he could poke the mid-Americas, "comes from America. And the fruit probably comes from Mexico or Brazil or some-other-place." He aimed a look at Gawain. "Do you get it?"

"Our food security, as it stands now, is more impacted by what happens in other countries than what happens in our own."

Arthur turned to Merlin and raised a brow, "Do we have a plan for this?"

Merlin shrugged, "Not quite. We have supplies, but we're going to need to order in a massive amount of resources and hire on personnel to make it manageable for a self-sustaining endeavor."

"Please tell me that's someone in the anarchy?" Gawain groaned, "Honestly, chap, I don't think I know a corned beef from a kernel of corn. Well—probably, but the point stands."

Arthur huffed, "You'd figure it out like we all do, Geraint, but I'm sure there are plenty of other people who are more qualified."

"It's currently being handled by services staff," Merlin admitted. "But I need authorization from Arthur to release the funds from the Trust." Which implied a kind of mind-boggling amount of cash needed, because the internal funding that Merlin had access to was, in general, a shit-ton of money. that he needed permission was kind of frightening. "We're also going to have to bring in the necessary staff. It'll be a work in progress, but if we can get most of it established before the plague really hits, we’ll have a much better footing for resisting the dead.”

"Don't we have to wait for the Trust to agree to our replacement, and for Arthur to set a new code and sign all the documentation and stuff?" Geraint asked.

"Please," Merlin snorted, "You say that like I don't know Emile's passwords. We're just going to handle this before the Trust even finds out."

"Solid life choice, mate." Eggsy snorted.

Kingsman agents were not good people. They were good at their jobs. They were loyal, efficient, and effective. But they were far too pragmatic and experienced at making the hard choices to qualify as ‘good’. Which really explained more than it didn’t about how blasé the Banner was about hacking passwords and breaking bylaws within their own organization.

Eggsy just relaxed a little further into his seat and made a mental note that he needed to get Daisy fitted for some new clothes before the shop in London closed. It was good they didn’t have to leave their home.


	2. Good Shepherd

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fitzwilliam Darcy was a magician of no mean talent. So when a magical cause is blamed for the King's deteriorating health, it's up to Fitz and a small group of trusted companions to figure out a solution before it kills the Crown Prince as well. They're willing to try anything, even an experiment that takes them to a run-down estate called Netherfield.
> 
> *This is a rough draft, warning you that I did no research into Regency England. Hope it's still fun.

It was the first time in almost a year that all his family was in one place and Fitz was running late. He wouldn't have been; his schedule was meticulously kept, except he'd been called out to consult on a magical crime and it had literally taken him all over the city.

Fitz took a deep breath before nudging the doors open to the Evening Room. "Please forgive me for running late. I did not mean to leave you waiting."

"Oh, don't be absurd Fitz, you're hardly late at all." His Aunt Marjorie Fitzwilliam, Duchess of York, Lady of Glennhaven waved it off. "Georgiana has been a most accomplished hostess in your absence."

Fitz was pleased to hear it. After the incident over the summer, Georgiana had been a pale shadow of herself. It was good to know that among family at least she was regaining her spark.

"Mrs. Cressel hasn't even come to get us yet." Georgiana gave a bright smile, perhaps a little forced, but Fitz appreciated the effort. "You can't be late if dinner isn't even ready yet."

"Though, please entertain us." Thomas, the heir of the Dukedom of York, drawled. "What reason does the always prompt Mr. Darcy have for being late?"

"I was called on by Scotland Yard. They've had a spat of," He hesitated to describe the crime with the women, especially his own sister, in the room, "magical crimes and requested my experience."

"Honestly, what is this the third or fourth time this month?" The Fitzwilliam Heir huffed. "Certainly, they should know their jobs better than a gentleman can. Slogging through the waste and mud of the trash of London. Can't you say no?"

"Perhaps I could turn some down." Fitz turned to stand behind the lounge where his sister stood and considered what he could say. "But the fact of the matter is that magicians can assist in solving crimes in ways that science is only just figuring out how to accomplish. And the police cannot afford to keep a magician on their staff with my experience and education."

Darcy was not watching his Uncle's heir. They'd had many arguments over this issue over the past years. As though he should be ashamed of serving the Crown. He'd fought, bled, and killed other men for the King. 'Slogging through rubbish' was nowhere near the worst he'd do. "It is a small thing for me to do when the benefit is so large."

His Uncle's younger son, Henry, a Colonel in His Majesty's Royal Army, the Commanding Magician of the 8th Regulars, patted him on the shoulder. He well understood Darcy's stance. Duty to the Crown was about the greater good of the Kingdom, not glory and honor and an easy way to get a wife.

"I will be in town for the next three months or so, my regiment has done our duty to the Crown and most of them will be taking their wages and returning to family that they haven't seen in three or more years. It will take time to recruit and train up the next batch of hotheaded boys ready to burn the French to the ground." Henry smirked, "besides, my General has requested I consider taking on a few apprentices. Scotland Yard might be exactly what I need to weed the chaff from the wheat."

"Oh, but Henry!" His mother frowned, "I was hoping you were going to consider finding a wife!"

Both men winced at the idea.

"Come now, lads. Marriage isn't so bad." Jonathon Fitzwilliam, Duke of York, Lord of Glennhaven laughed at them, "Thomas has done well with it. And I certainly have nothing to complain about."

"Uncle de Bourgh would have," Henry muttered quietly.

Fitz coughed to stifle his laughter, as Aunt Marjorie scrutinized both men. "What was that, gentlemen?"

"Nothing of great significance, Mother." Henry smiled, thankfully his mother didn't ask again, but the canny woman didn't appear to buy their excuse either.

Hesitantly, Thomas’s wife Eleanor asked, “What issue did the Scotland Yard call on you for Mr. Darcy? Was it a theft?”

Fitz didn't know how to sidestep his way around her question, he had never been as good at social interactions as he was at magic. “I beg not to say, Lady Fitzwilliam. It will surely put us all off our dinner.”

“Don't be shy, Fitz.” Thomas mocked, “We're all adults here. What was it that the police so desperately needed help with?”

“Georgiana is not an adult.” Henry retorted sharply, “Darcy is only called in on murders, and such is not the conversation of young women.”

Silence hung in the room before Georgianna gave a sharp sigh. “The Muck River Murders. You were called in to advise on those, weren't you brother?”

Fitz sighed, “Yes, Georgiana.”

Lady Eleanor wrung her hands in her lap. “So, it was a ritual murder? They reported in The Star that it would have to have been for... for the damage.”

Lady Marjorie startled, “Who had a copy of the Star?”

Eleanor waved a delicate hand, “One of the other customs at the modiste.”

Thomas ignored the ladies and stared intently at Darcy, “Why would they come to you?”

Henry stared at his brother incredulously, “You know Darcy served time with the Regulars.”

“What does that have to do-“

“It was a ritual common among the French. Henry and I saw it often enough.” Fitz certainly had enough nightmares from it. “We made it a habit of killing the magicians who practiced this.”

“They think it's a Frenchman?” Lord Fitzwilliam frowned.

No, Fitz figured it was a British magician recently back from the fighting on the continent. Because it wasn't as though the French had a monopoly on murder.

“Even though it's unlikely, even just having a conversation about it could result in the killer hearing that the police are onto him. Dare not say anything before a judge has heard the case.”

“Just as well.” Aunt Marjorie said fluttering her fan, “this is not the kind of conversation appropriate for dinner.”

“Oh,” Georgiana interrupted drawing attention to the sight of Mrs. Cressel in the doorway. “It looks like dinner is served.”

The butler, Gibbons, bowed at the threshold of the room just as the company in the parlor stood, introducing, “Lady Catherine de Bourgh.”

“Such timing my sister-in-law has.” Aunt Marjorie shook her head.

Henry snorted.

Uncle Jonathon stepped forward as the Lady de Bourgh swished into the room in all her many pleated skirts. “Sister, good it is to see you.”

Aunt Catherine turned up her nose and gave a delicate sniff. “Brother. So pleased the family could get together in one place.” She turned to enter the dining room, forcing her brother to keep up and dragging the rest of the family after, as always. “All except my Anne, that is.”

“Still ill?” Lady Eleanor asked sympathetically, taking her seat across from her husband’s aunt. “I heard of some wonderful new remedies coming in from the Orient, perhaps we could-“

“Absolutely not.” Lady de Bourgh barked, “I will not have my daughter treated with some concoction mixed together by some savage witch!”

“Really, Catherine.” Aunt Marjorie frowned, “There’s no reason to be so rude. Eleanor was only trying to be helpful.”

“If she wants to be helpful, perhaps she could focus more of her energy on getting pregnant and securing your husband an heir.” Lady Catherine bit out, cutting sharply into her first course. Ignoring the tense silence as Georgina and Eleanor both flushed darkly.

Fitz took a deep breath. “Aunt Catherine, I realize you’ve spent more of your time with Cousin Anne recently then among society; but please remember that Georgiana is still not out. And while this is a family dinner, some conversation is still not appropriate.”

The older woman huffed, “Someone has to be thinking about the future of our family. You’re not getting any younger, Darcy. When will you settle down? Anne’s not getting any younger either.”

From the other end of the table Georgiana choked a little. The blush still staining her cheeks as she delicately covered her mouth with a napkin. “Ah, pardon me. I do believe I found a bone.”

“The fish market has been a bit of a slim picking recently.” Uncle Jonathon quickly offered.

“Lord Dover at White’s is insisting that the explosions from the French’s cannon balls are what is driving the fish away. Now, the fishmongers have to haul the catch in from even further and the selection suffers for it.” Henry agreed.

Jonathon Fitzwilliam smirked, “How patriotic of him to blame the French for both sets of cannon balls.”

Scattered laughter ran up and down the dining table, but even Fitz wasn’t oblivious to Aunt Catherine’s continued ill manner.

The Magician considered his plate and wondered how much it would hurt to create a spell to lure fish to the nets. He did love fish, but it was a sorry selection to be had recently. “Perhaps I will tell Mrs. Cressel to avoid the fish dishes for now.”

“It might be for the best.” Aunt Marjorie said, laughter in her eyes.

Skirting the dining table, the Darcy butler, Gibbons, circled around to Fitz’s shoulder to offer a note. Leaning close he said, “For you, sir.”

An extra seal was pressed into the corner of the envelope and urgent energy radiated from it. No wonder Gibbons interrupted dinner. The magician checked for tampering with the seal, but it returned the same solid presence any unopened envelope did.

“Did the messenger stay?”

“No, Sir. Simply handed the envelop off and left. Would you care to write a return message, sir?”

“No, Gibbons. Thank you.”

The dining room was silent as Fitz considered the envelope and its contents. An invitation addressed to him for an upcoming ball hosted by the Duchess of Hafrowfax. Where invitations normally had an obligatory statement about the hostess being pleased to see the invitee there was only the sigil of the Royal House sealed with the Crown Prince’s own magical signature.

“Well, boy, aren’t you going to tell us who it’s from?” Aunt Catherine demanded from down the table.

“That’s a bit presumptuous, Catherine.” Aunt Marjorie rebutted, “It’s his mail.”

“It was delivered in the dining room and Darcy’s opened it, instead of waiting. That’s _rude_.”

“You’ll have to forgive me, Aunt Catherine,” Fitz said sliding the invitation back into its envelope and further sliding the envelope into his vest pocket. “One doesn’t ignore missives from the crown.”

The silence is a bit stunned.

“Good Lord, what about?” Uncle Jonathon startled, fork still held aloft as he stared at Fitz.

“I’ve been invited to a ball.” Fitz said after a brief hesitation, “It appears even the Crown is concerned about my bachelorhood.”

Which resulted in his family all a flutter, speculating over the actual contents of the missive. And, if it was an invitation to a ball, who the Crown might be placing in Darcy’s path. Which of course sent Aunt Catherine ranting over the near-sacred status Fitz’s late mother considered the betrothal between Fitz and Anne. All the while Fitz chose to resume his meal and allow his family their speculation.

Henry caught Fitz’s eye over his wineglass and gave a certain nod. Fitz consciously relaxed his grip on his silverware with the reassurance. After all, no member of the Royal family demands the presence of a Master Magician just to go about attempting to matchmake for him. No, whatever the Prince was about to drag Fitzwilliam into was likely to be difficult, dangerous, and time-consuming. It would be good that Henry would be willing to defend his back.

\---

The Royal family was perhaps the only people for whom greeting their guests at the door was not a requirement. Which was unfortunate for Fitzwilliam, because he wasn't even in the building yet and he was already uncomfortable. It would have been a wonderful surprise if all of this cloak and dagger nonsense could be handled quickly.

All the doors and windows to the palatial estate were open and guards and staff alike stood in discrete corners and shadows. There were hundreds of members of the nobility and the gentry who were pressing forward, eager for the festivities. The press of so many bodies was making him feel claustrophobic, already. Nothing to be had for it, such was the challenge of hosting a ball.

It was only that Fitzwilliam rarely encountered such a feeling. He was a tall imposing sort of fellow, with wide shoulders and a reputation as being taciturn and gruff. It well known that he was a powerful magician who had a history of being bloody on the battlefield and vicious when challenged. Which was a boon in maintaining his personal boundaries in almost every avenue except the ballroom. At an event such as this, the press of bodies was too much and such a powerful reputation was more of a draw than a deterrent. 

To the average husband-hunting mother such power and resourcefulness was a sound reasoning for gaining his attention. After all, monsters don't hunt in ballrooms.

Oh, if only that were the case. 

Off to the side of the entry, the delightful Duchess of Hafrowfax was carefully and politely greeting each guest for the Prince.

"Mr. Darcy, I'm so pleased you could make it." the older woman said with a polite smile, offer a small nod to his bow.

"Your Grace, it was an honor to be invited." Of course, he hadn't received any option in the matter, but he was a loyal subject and when the Prince called, he came. 

Passing the Duchess, Fitzwilliam noticed the Prince's manservant, David Mathers, in a discrete shadow just outside the ballroom. Having no other indication of how to find the Prince, he walked so as to pass by the corner. As he did, Darcy noticed the ruffle of the servant's collar and the pallor of his skin.

Mathers was a steady man indeed, but no less human than any other. While Fitzwilliam would not guess, he also would not ignore that he had received an oddly written, and by all accounts, urgent message from his Prince and here the man’s servant stood a trembling mess.

"Ah, Mr. Darcy," Mathers mopped his face with a handkerchief, "what a delightful surprise to see you here good sir." 

"Mathers, it was an honor to receive the invitation." Darcy said upon approach, "Are you well?"

"Simply the heat, kind sir." He offered his glass in salute, "You simply must try the punch. The bowl to the back of the room, the blue one? Has some of the best punch yet."

"I will certainly try it." Darcy gave the man a nod as he passed back into the ballroom. 

A blue bowl of punch towards the back of the room? Well, it wasn't likely to be the oddest piece of conversation in the room. Even if some might wonder. Darcy might not have considered the significance of colored punch bowls except to note the extravagance, but he knew Georgiana would have. Many of the women here would wonder. The Duchess was well known for her excellent events and the clear crystal service that decorated the hall extravagantly. To change it out simply so the Prince might conduct a secret meeting was alarming. But Fitzwilliam kept his pace slow and deliberate. Privacy was in short supply during a ball.

Here Fitzwilliam's greater height turned from advantage to disadvantage. Where any large gathering should mean he could see clearer, in a ballroom his height also made it easier for others to see him. 

"Mr. Darcy. Mr. Darcy.” A cousin of the Fitz-Howards called out. A matronly woman whose neckline dipped a bit farther than he would have preferred. "Allow me to introduce you to Caroline Saint James. Ms. Caroline, this is Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy."

"Ms. Saint James, a pleasure to make your acquaintance." Darcy bowed over the extended hand, balling up his impatience and taking a deep breath. Before promptly regretting it. Both women were wearing a truly miserable perfume, layered on with a very heavy hand. 

"Mr. Darcy, how wonderful to meet you. Why just last week I was making plans with my family to make a visit to Derbyshire and we were considering stopping in at your estate. I have heard only the best things about how beautiful Pemberley is."

Fitzwilliam couldn't even refuse it. Even objectively Pemberley was a beautiful house and the gardens were superbly managed. "Pemberley is a spectacular sight, indeed. And my staff and steward are well worth their place in my household. The house is, of course, open to tours save for the Christmas and Easter holidays."

"Will you be home after the Season?" The young Miss Saint James batted her eyes and blushed a pretty pink on her cheeks.

"I can't say that I have any standing plans," Fitzwilliam caught the surprising presence of his cousin, Henry Fitzwilliam, standing casually by a blue punch bowl in the back. He needed to get away from these women and quickly.

Fortunately for himself, and unfortunately for his old friends, he spotted two unattached gentlemen he knew from his early education and snagged their attention. "Miss Saint James, you said that you were planning a trip to Derbyshire; have you met Misters Allen Krestlebridge and Marcus Laurentree? Mr. Krestlebridge, Mr. Laurentree, allow me to introduce you to the estimable Mrs. Flint, sister of Lady Aubrey Fitz-Howard, and the lovely Miss Saint James."

"Pleased to make your acquaintance." Krestlebridge murmured into the kiss he placed on Miss Saint James' hand. "Darcy said you were traveling to Derbyshire? My estate, Nanovertee, is not far from the town of Hekskin. Is it on your trip?'

Mr. Laurentree, noticing the not-so-subtle attention his companion was giving the young and beautiful miss, offered a smile the dowager Mrs. Flint. "Would you care for a dance, Mrs. Flint? I believe a reel is the next, and I would adore it if you would save me from my two-left feet."

Fitzwilliam, in a move that was perhaps not the most polite ever, graciously and carefully extracted himself from the small group. By and large, he didn't approve of the use of magic outside of those situations that were life-threatening, educational, or ordained by God; but for the convenience of getting through the rest of the room unmolested and perhaps arrive at the Prince's clandestine meeting within the next month, the Magician applied a bit _look-away_ to his coat. Just to coast clear of the marriage-hunting mothers. 

His cousin greeted him with a clap on the back as Fitzwilliam dismissed his spell only steps away from him. "Fitz, good to see you."

"Surprised to see you, Henry." Fitzwilliam said as he followed his cousin to the meeting room. "And then, maybe not. You always were right in the thick of things."

There were three other men in the room, waiting when Fitzwilliam entered, and the Magician wasted no time bowing to the Crown Prince. "Your Highness."

"Please, sit." He gestured to the arrangement of chairs surrounding a beautiful card table. "I have much to discuss and very little time to discuss it in. Colonel Fitzwilliam, if you would raise the wards?"

Wards were easy. Men of magic were predisposed to want to use it to protect things with it. As God ordained. It was offensive magic and in fact, everything else, that hurt. Small charms were small hurts. The Look Away spell Fitzwilliam had attached to his coat, little more than a pinch, or the over warm feeling of too long spent in front of the fire. The kind of pains a man got used to as he worked.

The types of offensive magic that he and his cousin had used to fend off the French on any number of battlefields were much worse. Half of learning magic in school was learning to tolerate the pain that came with using God's gift to do damage. It was Fitzwilliam's own hypothesis that those men capable of taking enjoyment out of causing harm with magic were broken inside. Fitzwilliam couldn't even imagine the agony it would be to participate in a ritual like the ones the Scotland Yard was investigating. 

In anyways, Henry's ward was a thing of beauty encasing the small group surrounding the card table in a bubble that muffled the sound of the party and would, presumably, muffle their own conversation.

"Many thanks, Colonel." The Prince nodded.

Henry bowed in his seat, "I live to serve, your Grace."

"Commander Hornblower," the Prince addressed one of the other men, a fellow nearly as tall and as broad as Henry and himself. "Perhaps you could pour?"

The Commander, a naval officer Fitzwilliam had heard no small thing about, did the honors of opening a waiting bottle of wine and running a small series of sigil magic around the bottle and the glasses to ensure it hadn't been tampered with. Darcy bit his lip and pre-emptively stepped on his cousin's foot upon seeing that the bottle Hornblower poured from was French. At no point did they need to get into an argument about the patriotism of dealing with the French, with their _Prince_. 

The Prince waited until all of them had a glass and an appreciative sip before he began.

"What I am about to tell you is of the utmost secrecy. I am trusting you with not only the future of the country but also my own future health and happiness." the silence in the room was heavy. "Magic is dying."

Fitzwilliam took an involuntary breath in and he wasn't the only one shocked. Hornblower had leaned forward, Henry was grasping his glass tight enough his fingers were white and the last man at the table had choked.

Darcy took a breath, "Magic is in everything, from the land to the blood. How can it be dying, your grace?"

The Prince shook his head, "You're right and your wrong at the same time. Because how could magic, the strongest force for God on the Earth, be dying? Except, it very clearly is."

Hornblower blew out a breath, "Your highness this is surely the worst news I have heard in a long time. Can you share how you came to know of it?"

"It is not known," The Prince began, "but the Royal physicians have determined that my father, the King, is dying. After much prayer and magical consultations, it was determined that the King's connection with the kingdom, the oath and ritual that binds the soul of the King to his country just as it bind the soul of a man to his property, has begun to kill the King. It is the cause of his illness of late." the Prince sighed, "He is not a young man, any more than I am, but it is surely an awful sight to see the country fairly leeching the strength out of my father's soul. Nor a future I look forward to."

The nameless man sitting between Darcy and Hornblower hummed before requesting, "Sire, I may not know the men at this table, but I am certain that I may speak for them when I say that it is not a future we want for you. How can we help?"

The Prince swirled his wine in his glass, "I need a solution. A cause that can be mitigated. A curse that can be broken. I need hope, gentlemen. But I do not know where to reach for it."

"Is there any evidence? Any direction that you can point us in?" Darcy asked leaned forward just a little. "The task you have placed on us is an enormity; we are willing to do it. To assist our King in any way we can, but it would be better if we had a place to start."

The Prince shook his head, "I know my limits and regardless of the education my tutors drummed into my head, magic is not a strength of mine." He sighed, "But the royal magicians will surely have notes. And perhaps the physicians. I will have Mathers collect them and have copies drawn up."

One of the royal guards knocked on the door, "Your Highness, it's time."

The Prince stood and the gathered men stood with him. He tugged his vest and dinner jacket back into place. "I know what I am asking for seems the height of impossibility, but I have no other choice. I promise you, gentlemen, I will not forget your loyalty. Good evening."

"Good evening, Sire." Was the sounding reply from the small party in the hidden room of the Duchess's estate.

"Well," Hornblower said with a large exhale, reaching forward for the wine left on the buffet. "This was not at all what I expected when I rolled the bones this evening."

"I find I never get what I expect when I roll the bones," Henry said as he stretched his glass out for more wine.

Darcy looked at the men gathered, a cousin who would never judge and two men who might become just as close. He chugged his wine and moved around so the seats weren't so cramped at the table. They were none of them a fainting violet. "We don't have much time, but we need to arrange for at least a next meeting."

"Dinner will be soon," Henry agreed, "and our absence on the dance floor will be remarked upon." he eyed his cousin, "well, most of our absences will be remarked upon." 

Darcy grimaced. And the unnamed gentleman eyed Darcy with a speculative air, “Not fond of the marriage market?”

“Not fond of people.” Henry Fitzwilliam snorted, “Darcy is capable and confident, so long as it doesn’t require that he make conversation with the fairer sex.”

As much as Fitz wanted to take insult at his cousin’s estimation, it really was quite true. So, he grumped a little with the gentlemen seated around the table. "Unless it's about Pemberley, Magic, or war, I'm not well practiced at making conversation.”

Hornblower hummed as he settled back in his chair sipping at the wine, "It occurred to me why his Highness chose us. With no offense meant, there is a rather large disparity between our backgrounds. It had seemed odd and out of character for what I know of high society. But if someone were attempting to gain as much a comprehensive view of the problem, they might well create a gathering such as this.”

“Indeed.” The gentleman lifted his glass but didn’t sip, “I haven’t been introduced to you, have I?”

“None of us were honestly introduced,” Henry reassured, “Though you might be the only one at the table who needs an introduction.”

“Ah, David Watson, then.” The man sipped at his wine, “I was a man of the faith once.”

“What happened?” Henry winced, “If you don’t mind our knowing?”

“I had an extended disagreement with my patron over the content of my sermons. It became heated enough to eventually catch the attention of one of his Highness’s aides. Which I imagine is how I ended up at this most illustrious gathering.”

Hornblower leaned forward, “What was this content you found so disagreeable?”

“My patron was enamored with the teachings of a reverend Iloven. Are you familiar with his writings?” Darcy couldn’t say he’d ever heard of the name in his life. “Yes, well, Mr. Iloven preaches that tying is something of an outdated practice, such as the marriage of multiple wives. He’s been promoting the cessation of the practice for going on a decade now - though I had only heard of him recently.”

Henry sat back with a grin, “How could we get a hold of this traitor?”

Watson blinked, “Traitor?”

Darcy poured more wine, “The king is the land and the land is the king. We’re already going to see the death of one king for it, I’d rather not see two. If this idiot is the cause, then he could very well lose his head for it.”

“Unfortunately, just telling the faith they can’t preach Reverend Iloven’s teachings isn’t going to fix the issue,” Hornblower said sensibly. “We need to - ah, run an experiment? Find out if tying or not is at the root of this problem. Though, I don’t think I’m going to stun anyone when I say that I’m not exactly flush with property. Where are we going to find a piece of property that either is flourishing without a tie or isn’t and the owner will allow a tie?”

“I might have an idea about that.” Darcy offered, thinking about the invitation sitting among his mail. “It would require bringing one man at least partially into the investigation; also, more funds than I have readily available at the moment.”

“His Highness thought something like this might come up,” Mathers said just about giving the men at the card table a heart attack. “He requested that I deliver this into your hands, Mr. Darcy, and remind you that people will notice if you linger much longer.”

Hornblower thanked the valet for his time as Henry practically planted his face into Darcy’s shoulder to see what the Prince had sent him.

Fitzwilliam gave a relieved sigh, “It’s a promissory note to release funds from the Bank of London, should they be necessary. Along with some guidance.” The clock in the corner struck the hour and Darcy folded the documents away into a secure pocket on the inside of his vest. Couldn’t even be seen. “More to discuss at our next meeting. Tomorrow at ten work for you gentlemen, I can host if necessary?”

“Fine. Fine” Watson agreed, leading the way out of their cloistered little corner. “Once more into the abyss.”

Hornblower snorted following the Reverend, “I thought that was my line?”

“Ready, old chap?” Henry clapped him on the back and Darcy managed a smile more akin to a grimace.

“Not in the slightest.”

\---

“So, Mary and James Henriksen reported producing 800 pounds of wheat, 20 pigs, and 150 pounds of cheese.” Elizabeth said bending over the ledger she’d borrowed from Mr. Bennett’s study.

“What’s that compared to last year’s collection?” Jane asked, carefully reinking her pen.

“A decrease of two percent.” Elizabeth sighed. “So, none of the Longbourne tenets made positive gains this year.”

“That’s an accumulated eight percent fall in income since we started tracking.” Mary pointed out over her embroidery. “And Longbourne isn’t a large property, to begin with.”

“Longbourne is dying.” Elizabeth finally said, hanging her head over the accumulated expenses of the last four years.

The cattle were still giving milk, but eighty percent of that income stayed with the tenets, as the Longbourne agreement stated. Of the calves that were weaned over a quarter of them died of disease or weakness before they could be sold. And overall the land, the acres of farm, the vegetable plots, and the orchards all of it, were declining in production. Even by taking control of the household budgets, the eldest Bennett daughters could not take in the expenses enough to make up the difference.

After all, Kitty needed a new ribbon and Lydia needed new shoes. Mrs. Bennet needed a new fancy dress and Mr. Bennett needed the newest discourse of philosophy. And Lord Almighty forbid that their family listened when they ask that nothing be bought on credit.

“We can’t think that way.” Jane said, more desperate than hopeful. “We start thinking that way, Longbourne will die.”

“I thought we already were,” Elizabeth sighed quietly.

Mary set her project aside and slid her stool closer to her sisters, “We should pray.”

“We’re always praying, God doesn't appear to be favoring us.” Elizabeth bit her tongue. She shouldn’t have gone so far.

“Then perhaps I'll pray for a miracle instead. Someone with an answer to the problem.” Mary got very quiet; head bowed. “Someone who can help save us. God does not abandon his children. We just need to rely on him.”

It was quiet in the room after Mary left. The older Bennet sisters knew that Mary wasn’t wrong. If things continued the way they had been Longbourne would die, and without a dowry large enough to entice a marriage or connections well enough to offset their family, the Bennet sisters would be forced out of their home. If they didn’t end up on the streets, it would be because their relatives had found them husbands willing to marry for a pittance. 

They needed a miracle.

Elizabeth took a deep breath, “We could try a sacrifice. Since the land needs more than father’s magic.”

“What kind of sacrifice could make the land yield when it has nothing left to give? A maiden's blood is not the price of a soul-keep.” Jane shook her head, tired when the suggestion would have once been met with horror and disgust. “A maiden cannot hold God's promise on her own. No woman can. Just as no man can carry a child on his own. There are things for men and there are things for women."

“How many others are dying Jane? The Lucas's? The Danvers?” Elizabeth wiped angrily at the tears dripping down her face. “The yield dropped two percent between this year and the last, twice the drop of the previous year, and three times that of the difference when we first started keeping track. How long until we starve? How long until the families in our care starve?"

"I don't know!” Jane burst, “Is that what you want to hear?! I don't know!” The older sister paused, “But what can _we do_ , Lizzie? We're just women."

They sit in silence as the day creeps on, simply considering the matter but Jane was correct. Longbourne might have been their home, and if they had been males, it might have been their future. But as women, they had no control over the few options that might save their beloved home.

Come the time for afternoon tea, the sisters had made no further progress and were sharing their misery in the situation and laid on the bed in their shared room; having no desire to wander downstairs and be forced to dawn a smile. Through the open window, though, they heard their mother’s voice chime out.

“Netherfield Park is let at last! Do you not want to know who has let it?”

“Seeing as you desire to tell me, I do not think I have any say in the matter, my dear.”


	3. Say Your Name

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Wall was a testament to fear, desperation, and necessity, but though it was still powerful and still stood, there was nothing but snow on the other side. The Others had long since abandoned settlements within the Real Realm to attack from the Nightside. Names remained, though, one of the simplest and most powerful magics that anyone could learn.

Names were powerful. They claimed the properties of a thing; a person, an object, or an Other. Many hundreds of years ago names weren't given, they were earned and there was a power to knowing someone's name. The story went that the Others were the first who learned to wield names against their owners. That they'd listen on the wind for a person's name and steal it. Steal their soul, or just their life—to invade a human settlement and steal more from people—but it was the Children of the Forest who'd taught humanity magic, and it was the First Men who eventually used the power of names against the Others and raised the Wall to keep them out.

It wasn't quite the same now. The Wall was a testament to fear and desperation, and necessity, but though it was still powerful and still stood, there was nothing but snow on the other side. The Others had long since abandoned settlements within the Real Realm to attack from the Nightside. Names remained, though, one of the simplest and most powerful magics that anyone could learn.

And they remained the weakest link in the protection of the Real Realm.

So, joining the Night's Watch required giving up everything. Members gave up land and titles, and even their future as a spouse or a parent. And nowadays, the Night's Watch even required their name.

It was a geas, Wolf—who had once been called Jon Snow—knew, a protection that saved lives while out on missions. Without a known name, a member of the Night's Watch was safe from any number of ruinous magics. But, it also meant they had no home but the Wall and the Watch. The magic that tied lips, tongue, and teeth from sharing their names also tied them to the Wall and the mission of the Night's Watch to defend the Realms of Men, the Real Realm.

"Have they failed yet?" Old Bear asked as he climbed to the rickety overlook where Wolf stood watch.

"No."

It was a foregone conclusion in many minds that they would fail, the threesome in the courtyard kneeling and chanting with frost on their lips. The spell that locked their names away could be released, but it required something like a key. A key only the Lord Commander of the Night's Watch knew. Someone desperate, willing to endure an agonizing level of pain, could tear the spell away with enough power. But there were many reasons not to.

The pain wasn't just physical. It was a magical wound to the soul and the shock of it could spread out from the person to lure in hunting Others. If they didn't die from the pain, or the sudden exposure of their soul, Others would get them. Being under the geas was a bit like wearing gloves when most people went barehanded. It was uncomfortable at first, but eventually, you grew accustomed to it. The only problem was that everyone else grew calluses and the people wearing gloves didn't. Tearing the spell off was a bit like the pain of new skin times a thousand. Even just the wrong type of magical contact could be life-threatening.

Unfortunately, it was the only way anyone could leave the Watch if the Lord Commander didn't agree to their petition.

"You have some of the most advanced magical skills in the Watch.” Old Bear mentioned offhand, "When it comes to such things there is no one better in the Watch, perhaps not even in all of Westeros; do you think they will survive it?"

"It's difficult to tell." Wolf admitted, "If the ritual required only power, even with the siphons they have set up, they wouldn't be able to pull enough to Reclaim the names of three people." He sighed, "But it's not just power, it's also determination and endurance. If all three of them can make it to the end of the ritual, then their chances of surviving are—mediocre, but possible. Especially if you let them recuperate here."

The Old Bear scoffed, "Let them hide among the very Order they're betraying?"

"It's not really a betrayal, Old Bear." Wolf pointed out, "They were never particularly happy here. They made no secret of it." He watched the eddies and waves of magic in the courtyard for a moment before turning to his Lord Commander. "Why didn't you let them go?"

"Because they hadn't earned it," Old Bear spat. "A lifetime of dedicated service. A commendation for going above the call of duty. A gift in return for a feat of impossible success. Those are the reasons allowed for reclaiming a name and leaving the Order honorably. Sunshine had been here for six years! Fox less than that and Fiddler never gave humble and sincere service a single day he was here, not even as a boy!"

Wolf didn't have anything to say to that. As much as he believed the three should have been let go simply for expedience, Old Bear wasn't wrong. A spike in the magic in the courtyard caught his attention and he grieved just a little for what he saw. "Well, Lord Commander, may I suggest you let Press and Publication write your statement? Because no one is going to want to hear that in the wake of three deaths."

Even as he spoke Fiddler at the head of the triangle drawn in the Courtyard choked and seized in the middle of the chant and the ritual collapsed inwards. There was nothing to see or hear for most of the observers. Just the man's seizing body and the soft gasps from the two women as they began to drown in their own blood. For Wolf's eyes, it looked as though the very hounds of Death were waiting at the door for the last lock to open.

"They're dead?" Old Bear clarified.

"Just about."

"Satin!" The Lord Commander bellowed for his steward, "How long until we can approach?"

Wolf gauged the magic still whipping around the courtyard and what he remembered of the skills on duty tonight. "Without a Spelleater, I'd wait until daybreak. Wouldn't want anyone caught in the drag."

"Just so." Old Bear nodded as his assistant and steward jogged up the steps. "Satin, prepare to have our three renegades cremated. Find out if they have any next of kin to contact, and then arrange for their rooms and things to be put back into circulation."

"Yes, Lord Commander," Satin said jotting down notes on his tablet. "What should I do about their team?" 

Old Bear frowned, "Who's were they on?"

"Mine," Wolf admitted, "And Wail and Keeper's. Last I heard they had requested Wilde and Martin to rotate off."

Old Bear thought and Wolf waited patiently with Satin, his ear towards his Commander, his eye towards the eddies slowing in the courtyard. "Team 9 and 13? What are they up for next?"

Satin tapped open the mission assignments software. "Next on the roster looks like a code 2; some sort of mess in Oldtown that includes a trapped Otherkin and temperature closer to roasting ovens." He shrugged when both men shot him a glance. "That's what the note said."

"Combine them," Old Bear decided finally, "Team 9 can work with 13 on this one, and we can consider rotating members through the other teams as well. Shake things up a bit."

"We'll be odd one," Wolf mentioned.

"You will, but you'll have the people to make up for it." Old Bear said. "Widow's Wail and Oathkeeper will join you temporarily and you'll take on a set of trainees."

Wolf couldn't help but make an unpleasant face even as he followed them both off the observation deck.

"Don't even think of complaining, Wolfe." Old Bear said, "You're lucky I don't have you permanently on the training grounds. Thorn is a pain in the ass. I wouldn’t be at all fussed about demoting him."

"I'm more use to you in the field." Wolf finally said, trying not to choke on the thought of being stuck inside the citadel of Black Castle for the rest of his life. No matter how decent he thought of his life, a man could and would go mad with nowhere to go and the same walls to see day in and day out.

"That doesn't actually pan out," Satin said, offering a sheepish smile when Wolfe scowled at him. "Students you train have longer lives, more successful missions, and produce more accurate reports. It's statistically significant, you train better watchmen than the Commander at Arms." Satin shrugged, "We really should put you in the training grounds but-"

"You'd probably start a fire just to get out." Old Bear smirked, "Don't think I don't know you, boy. You’ve been here more than half your life. You'd hate it and you’d do your best to make me regret it. So, I won't put you in the training yard, but expect to start getting more trainees going through your team. They could handle getting more experience early."

Wolf gave an uncomfortable smile before bowing and going in the direction of his rooms. There was a reason his trainees were so much more prepared for life as a Watchman, and it had everything to do with the missions Team 13 took. He wasn't going to let students die on his watch. So, for the time they were with him, they would think fondly of the training grounds they'd once considered the depths of hell. If they didn't have appropriate training or equipment, then he made sure they got it. If they didn't write a report accurately and with context and background, then he made them rewrite it.

Team 13 was tactical response. They were heavy hitters for the Watch. Because of skill, power, or experience; Team 13 was reserved for situations when neither the point of contact nor Research knew what was going on. So, Team 13 was sent in. Sometimes it was a bit like cutting steak with a cleaver, but oftentimes other teams would have fallen apart or been torn apart by what they'd faced and survived it. Which was one of the reasons Wolf pushed so hard on his trainees.

If a trainee died on another team, they might die in a grotesquely painful manner. If they died on Team 13, odds were the rest of the team would end up shooting at something wearing their face. So, the rule of thumb was just don't die.

Dire and Bull were sitting paying cards with his tarot deck when he entered his rooms. Wolf sigh. He was going to need a new deck.

"I'm going to point the Quartermaster in your direction when he asks why I'm requisitioning _another_ deck."

"They're practically interchangeable." Bull scoffed as he threw down the five of cups in a game only his partner and he could understand. "That you can accomplish so much with them is more a testament to your power, not the cards."

"If you had an actual specialty deck, we'd leave it alone. Just like your other tools." Dire said, "But these are 'good enough' so you've never pestered Old Bear for the accommodation." Her head snapped up, "Also, for a Master Sorcerer with more power in your pinky than most from the White Tower have in their entire body, you're threshold sucks."

"Does it?" Wolf smirked, "Or are you so used to the thresholds of the outer world? Mine does exactly what I need it to. I have nothing worth stealing that isn't itself warded."

Bull looked surprised, Dire looked grumpy. "What does your threshold do then?"

"It dissuades those with intent to harm me." Wolf shrugged out of his outer layers and slowly worked his way around the room packing his gear. "If anyone with truly violent intentions were to make their way through, it would alert me. Even wake me from a spelled sleep."

"Huh," Dire was staring at the doorway like she was going to be able to see the magic if she squinted hard enough. She couldn't. The young woman didn't possess that ability, but Wolf figured it was because the Old Gods had made her terrifying enough.

"You don't feel the majority of the protections, Dire, because they're inert."

Dire huffed, "It would stop me?"

"Well, no." Wolf admitted, "That's my job. It's just to alert me to someone out to kill me. You'd never do that." She was opening her mouth to object when Wolf offered a quirky kind of smile. "Alright, you could, if you wanted and the payout was enough. But Dire, you've already told me. There's not enough gold in Casterly Rock to pay for you to assassinate family."

"Point," She settled with a grumble.

Bull pulled her closer to pet back to docility as he watched Wolf pack, "We get a case?"

"Yeah, Code 2 in Oldtown. But the assignment hasn't come through yet, so I don't have any details."

"We'll probably wake up to 'em," Bull mentioned, shifting his partner from his lap to the other seat. "Which is probably our cue to -"

"Did they manage it?" Dire asked, her eyes flinty and her attitude cold. "Fox, Sunshine, and Fiddler; you were out watching the ritual did they manage it?"

"No," Wolf said quietly. "Fiddler placed himself at the front of the ritual, for whatever reason, and he seized. The pain was likely too much for his nerves. Brought Fox and Sunshine down with him. They'll be cremated but will probably end up in the crypts with everyone else who dies a Watchman. Regardless of the reason."

"You say that like there could have been a difference." Bull squinted at him through the shadows. "Did you expect them to make it?"

Wolf thought and fiddled with the loose thread on his cuff. "If Fiddler had set the ritual so that the women carried the burden of determination..." He trailed off, sighed at their wide-eyed gazes and finally moved over to his study board to show them what he meant. "Most rituals, including the Reclaiming, are established in a triangle form, it's about efficiency of force."

"A'ight." Bull nodded, "We've used them before. Forward for offense, inverse for defense."

"Yes." Wolf redrew the diagram. "But just because that's the way it's always been done, doesn't mean that it has to stay that way. If Fiddler, or Fox, or Sunshine had been smart enough to invert the burden so that it was Fiddler leading as, the odd man out, but the women supporting as the anchor points for the ritual, they probably could have managed it." Wolf capped his marker. "Sunshine had power and Fox was always more than willing to bludgeon a problem to death if needed. They could have done it."

Dire eyed the only of her kin she could acknowledge, "You've thought about this. You've considered it more than just tonight's vigil if you're this prepared. Were you waiting for them to come to you?"

Bull frowned, "You'd have helped them? It's not like they were giving you much consideration—practically ever."

"I would have helped." Wolf agreed. "Old Bear probably would have docked me a lifetime's worth of dragons, but I would have happily taken it."

"Why?"

"To save them." Wolf turned away from his small family-within-the-Watch. "Because dying in ritual, or dying by Other, it's a horrible disgusting death. And I can't say that I would wish it on an enemy let alone people I've fought and bled with."

Dire sniffed. "Your heart is showing brother."

"I know."

“Fiddler never really gave up his name.” Bull said thoughtfully, “Always touting his lineage as a member of the Free Folk. Always looking for others who claimed that their home was beyond the Wall.”

“Old Bear had to change his assignment twice.” Dire said, “Once because he'd created friction within the team, and once because his spells failed.”

Both men stared at Dire, but she just nodded. Wolfe released a heavy breath. Spells didn't just fail. “So, he really hadn't given up his name.”

“Right.” Bull shook his head, “That's frightening as fuck. He was back up on more than one of our missions.”

“Probably because it was us. Old Bear could afford to give us shitty back up because he knew we were BAMF.” She sneered, “Same reason Bear put him with Wail and Keeper, too.”

Bull snorted and pressed a kiss to his lifemate’s cheek.

“I just wish Old Bear had told us how much trouble he was.”

“Maybe he did. You remember the weird lecture he gave us a year or so ago?” Bull asked, “About how sometimes back up didn't come and being willing to put everything we had into a working and how the Watch would always be our home? What else could it have been?”

Wolfe sighed and rubbed at the headache building behind his eyes, “Well shit.”

Bull took a deep breath. "They're sending us on a Code 2 case a member down?"

"Wail and Keeper lost even more than we did. Team 9 is down to 2." Wolf zipped his bag and settled on his bed. Gaze on the ceiling and not his teammates. "They'll be joining us for now, and so will a couple of trainees."

"I kind of hate trainees," Bull said softly into the quiet.

"Apparently they did some sort of math," Wolf huffed, "but training with us is apparently better for their long-term success than anything else."

Dire snorted, the sound coming from closer than he expected. "You mean, training with you is better for their long-term health." She pressed a kiss to his forehead and Wolf closed his eyes to just absorb her warmth. "You're a good man and a great brother, Wolf."

"See you in the morning, Wolf." Bull said from the door.

Wolf was just pleased that they'd turned the lights off as they'd left. So, he could lay back on his bed and try to forget the day for just a little while.

\---

There was something wrong with his sister, Rhaegar thought. Or perhaps not wrong, she didn't appear ill, but she was quiet and seemed to be waiting for something.

Dowager Queen Rhaella noticed as well, “Is something wrong, Dany?”

Daenerys of House Targaryen took a delicate bite of her breakfast, “Not wrong per se.” She looked up and seemed to wilt a little at the attention of her mother, her brother, and his wife. “I have some news that I—well, it's not going to go over well.”

Elia’s expression didn’t change. For all that she was Queen and did her duty to Westeros and her husband, the last few years had been more than difficult. Their relationship had never recovered from the death of Rhaenys and Aegon. And it was not helped by the cradle deaths of four other royal children. Elia had refused to have much to do with any member of the royal family after the last; she had insisted that the keep was haunted, and the ghosts were killing her children.

Rhaegar had stopped listening a long time ago. The Queen had the right to her grief, and if they lived in any time but the modern age of cameras and social media, he might have allowed her to return to her family in Dorne. The Royal House could not bear the scrutiny, however, so the woman stayed; a wraith of a woman in a Keep she swore was full of ghosts.

The Dowager Queen frowned, reaching out to her daughter with a hand. “Whatever it is you know you can tell us, sweetling. We're family.”

“But we’re not family first, are we? We’re royalty and everything else comes after that.” Dany gave an awful laugh and a weak grin before she shook her head. “There's no coming back from this.”

“And what is 'this'?” Rhaegar could see his sister’s hands trembled when she picked up her glass.

“I got married.” There was a silent gasp from the waiting royalty, even Elia’s attention was caught. “To Khal Drogo of the Dothraki.”

“Dany!”

Elia looked away, both disappointed and yet not surprised, Rhaegar saw. He wondered if his wife had known and simply couldn't be bothered to tell him. Too late to find out now. All he could do was damage control.

“Mother, Elia, please leave us. I need to speak privately with my sister.”

Elia hesitated for a long moment but didn’t bother to object. Simply moving slowly from the breakfast table. Rhaella was not so passive.

“Rhaegar, please allow me to stay.” She pleaded, “Surely, as a family, we can find a way to handle this?”

“No, mother. I need to speak with Dany, and I need to do it alone.”

The Dowager Queen hesitated but eventually followed her daughter-in-law out of the breakfast parlor.

“Can we annul it?” The King of Westeros asked as the door shut behind them. He didn't look at his sister. Couldn't look at her and left the breakfast table to stare out across King's Landing. He'd been building his sister up in the politics of the kingdom for years now, and it was all ruined.

“No. It was done in the Dothraki way, under the sight of the Moon and blessed by the Dosh Khaleen.”

By which his sister meant that she’d had sex outside with a dozen old women standing around waiting to judge if she was fertile enough for their horse lord. It was disgusting. The entire situation was disgusting, Rhaegar knew but he couldn’t muster the emotion to be furious.

“When did it happen?”

“Seven months ago.” His sister admitted in a whisper, “It—it was why I didn't want to come back.”

“Why?” He ignored the crack in his voice, “We've known for years that you might need to take the throne, why would you risk it all? How could some savage horse lord be worth giving up your birthright? Is it love?”

He heard her take a deep breath before pushing back from the table to join him at the window.

“He's kind and gentle. He respects my opinion and is always willing to help me learn more about his culture.” She began, “But love? No, brother, I don't love my husband. I'm not sure I believe in the love people say should exist between a husband and wife. Mother didn’t have it. You didn’t get it. I’ll be pleased with the love of a child and the respect of my husband.”

Rheagar didn't know what to say. Couldn't even think for a minute, “You've put our House at risk, sister. I have no eligible children. No more siblings. And my wife can give me no more heirs. You've ruined us.”

He heard Dany say quietly, “Then perhaps it is time we are ruined.”

Rhaegar spun and snarled at her wordlessly but she stared back at him with a fury he'd never even imagined hid under her skin.

“We're dying, Rhaegar! And it's because of that fucking crown! How many of our family has it driven insane? How many has it corrupted down to their bones? Where are the children? The love? The laughter and respect from the first generations of our family? They're dead, Rhaegar.

“I'm not an idiot. I don't know why but I do know that problems our House has had are because of that stupid throne and its crown. It drove father so mad that I'm pretty sure mother had him killed. It drove Viserys mad. You’ve changed since taking the throne. I remember a brother who woke me with kisses and promised me the moon for my smile. Now I can see the calculation in your eyes and the way you watch people interact like you’ve forgotten how. And don’t give me crap about the weight of duty.” She stared at him, “I love you, brother, but there’s something wrong with you and I don’t want to be its next victim.”

The truth was that Rhaegar had hired the assassin to kill his father. He didn't regret it. Or the thousand other nasty things that he had learned were necessary to ensure the safety of a country the size of Westeros. And perhaps that was enough proof of what his sister said because the man he'd been when he'd married would never have dreamt of killing his own father or hiding the deaths of his children. He would have wept for his children and tried constantly to get his wife back from her doldrums. Now, Rhaegar couldn't be bothered.

“It's the magic.” He said after a long pause.

“What?”

“It's not the throne or crown itself, or even the politics of this cesspool. King Aegon the First wove a net of magic over Westeros to protect it from the Others. It was, honestly, why he hadn't needed to meet so many on the field of battle. The First Men might have wielded magic as easy as iron and bronze, but the Andals had never suffered the kind of ravaging that the Others had besieged them with. That protection is still in Westeros. It's probably the most powerful working on the continent, short of the Watch.”

“The working is unraveling?”

“I wish. It remains as strong as ever, but the House Targaryen has lost magic and in the modern era we cannot control what was once a drop in the great sea that our ancestors could claim. And in trying to control the working, we go insane.”

Dany was clearly horrified, though if it was the danger or his apathy to it, Rhaegar couldn’t guess. “Then pass it on to someone else!”

“Who? The working was made by a dragon, it has to be held by a dragon. House Velayron, House Baratheon, House Celtigard, all are weaker in magic than we are! And those few Houses that have not lost magic or have gained it? They have not a drop of dragon blood in their lines. They can't take it from us.”

Rhaegar looked away, “The Martells are still magically strong. Quentyn is studying in Lys with his mother, and Doran hired a Maester of the High Secrets to train Arianne and Trystanne. Oberyn, Doran, and their lost brother are all very magically gifted. I thought even though Elia had no training that it might show in our children, but…”

“But Aegon and Rhaenys are dead.” Dany couldn't handle it. Her hands trembled and she could feel the thumping of her heat if she cast her mind back to the idea. “You are the end, Rhaegar. You have no surviving children. Viserys is unsuitable for the power that comes with the crown. You made that ruling yourself. I have taken myself from your House and married a good man with great plans. My child will never be accepted as a monarch. There is nothing left of our House, brother.”

“Then what am I to do?” The King finally asked his sister.

“You need help. The Other King is a nightmare made real, feasting on hearts and souls, surely if he is what waits at the end of your reign, then someone will think of an answer?” She laid a gentle kiss on his shoulder as she turns away. “You need help brother, and you don't have any more options.”

"Sir Hightower," Rhaegar finally said after many moments of simply staring out at the city. "It appears I need to make plans. Would you call for the Lord Hand? It appears I’m in need of his assistance."

"Of course, Sire."

\---

Wolf took in the tightly packed streets, dirty alleys, and soaring towers of the home of the Order of the Maesters, and considered that had he been born below the Neck, this might have been where he ended up when his magic started spilling through his skin. So he was quite satisfied with having been born in Winterfell, where the Watch advised the people and not the Maesters. Wolf didn't trust that the Maesters would have allowed him to keep his skin.

"I've heard that the Maesters of the High Mysteries regularly have the most powerful sorcerers and witches killed to protect their precious status quo." Dire offered with a gleeful tone, hefting her bag from the taxi.

"Delightful, Dire." Oathkeeper frowned. "What a wonderful thought."

Widowswail snorted, "I wouldn't be surprised."

"I am now fully terrified," Truthspeaker muttered to his partner.

"Don't be a pansy." The girl replied with a shove of her elbow into her partner's ribs, "The Maesters are just people. You can kill people."

Wolf shook his head at the team he'd ended up with and wondered if it was because he'd done something wrong in a past life, or something right?

"What do you folks do again?" The Taxi driver asked, head out the window staring at the pile of luggage in matching cases and the seven people who'd piled out in something like a uniform.

"Garbage clean up," Wolf said as he paid, "thanks for the ride."

"Sure, Sure."

The suite that the Watch had arranged included two rooms attached to something like a common area. Two beds per room and a couch that pulled out in the common area.

"Dire, Bull, Keeper, Wail, take the room on the right. Truth and Bear, take the room on the right." Wolf dropped his case near the end of the couch and hoped to the gods that the pullout was comfortable.

"You're going to cram four people in a room with two beds?" Wail whined, "That's no fun."

"You have no subtlety and Dire has no shame." Wolf retorted, "If you're on the outs with your partner, feel free to call for a cot or pile blankets on the floor. But I'm not letting you scar our trainees before we've even had them a week."

Truth gasped as he made the connection and Bear just groaned as she dragged her still sputtering partner into their designated room. "Come on, Truth. You're not that young, and I am not giving you the Little Watcher's talk."

"Don't forget!" Wail called after with a cackle, "Safe, Sane, and Consensual!"

As Bear closed the door the last thing they saw was her middle finger.

Keeper sighed, "You're such a child, Wail."

Wail opened his mouth, but Bull was already shoving a sock in it.

"No, you can retort, and be stuck out here while I fuck Dire up against the wall. Or you can not, and Keeper might let you get lucky in the hour and a half before dinner." Wail wasn't a stupid man, immature, but not stupid. He dragged his partner, rolling her eyes, through the door before Bull was even finished. "Score. You're up, Dire."

Wolf jerked from his doze to see the younger woman sitting on the coffee table, "What?"

"You've done good, Wolf." Dire nodded, "Not a step out of place or a stuttered stride, but you watched your partner, the woman you thought was your lifemate, drown in her own blood last night. Did she even severe the connection or warn you before?"

Wolf groaned; he should have expected it. Dire was what she was, a former assassin trained in the magic of the House of Black and White, blunt and dangerous as the most ruthlessly honed blade. But she loved with her whole heart and it was more than half the reason she was no longer No One. "Dire-"

"You're my brother, Wolf." She interrupted, "And the only thing worse than dying a horrible magic-laced death would be dying because you couldn't handle your own feelings!" She smacked him, gentle for her, but still a hard whack.

"Dire!" Bull said completely exasperated and pushed her off the table, "Woman, that is not how you comfort someone!"

"We need to know!"

"How about using some fucking tact?" Bull groaned, "Is that so hard?"

"How about-"

"She didn't." Wolf interrupted. Dire and Bull had a passionate relationship and had more than once gone from screaming at each other to fucking in the same breath. Once while he was still in the room. While he had slept through it before, silencing circles were worth their weight in magic, it was never something he wanted to do. "Fox didn't tell me and she didn't severe the bond." He rubbed harshly at his eyes, trying to dig the sleep sand out of the corners of his eyes. "I don't know that she could've."

"Are you fit to be working?" Bull asked without much more tact than Dire would have.

"Yes."

"How?" Dire moved in closer, peering at her brother like she could see under his skin.

"We hadn't shared magic outside of ritual in over a year." Wolf finally admitted. "I knew she was unhappy and that she was listening to Fiddler, but I didn't-"

"No." Dire cut through like a sharp knife to the heart. "Fox was an adult. She knew what she was swearing to when she took the black and she knew what danger she was courting when she agreed to reclaim her name. If you weren't her life partner than you're responsibility to her was over when she punched the clock at the end of the day. Don't take her stupidity on your shoulders."

Bull nodded, "She right. But, damn man, you haven't had sex in a year?"

Wolf stared at the man who might as well be his goodbrother and huffed, "I have a right hand, Bull. And absolutely no desire to deal with Fox being jealous of someone, even Sam."

"She would too," Bull said, "I remember that trainee about a month ago, damn near broke the girl's nose."

Dire huffed, "If she wasn't fucking him, or sharing magic with him, and intended on to reclaim her name then why the fuck was she jealous?!"

"You can't stop emotions like that, Dire." Wolf sighed as he toed off his boots. "Wake me up for dinner?"

"Sure, Wolf," Bull said, pulling Dire away. "Sweet dreams."

Wolf rolled over and thought that he hadn't had sweet dreams in a very very long time.

\---

Team 13 woke before the Sun. A lullaby, a spell originally to ease the sleep of small children, and a caim, one of the strongest and most intrinsic protective wards possible, had ensured if the team did not sleep well, then at least they slept deeply.

Keeper and Wail had gone out for breakfast and returned from the hotel's buffet with nutritious meals for everyone. The only thing more damaging to casting magic than not getting enough sleep was not eating well.

"Spoke with the day-shift manager for the hotel," Wail said between bites, "Explained the caim; he agreed that so long as no damage occurred to the rooms, there shouldn't be any problems."

"Did you make sure he understood the ward was punitive?" Bull asked, "’Cause I still remember that asshole in Starfall, who tried to take us to court."

"Punitive, really?" Wail raised a brow.

"I can read, asshole," Bull responded, flicking a piece of egg at him.

"Luckily," Wolf interjected before a full-on food fight could occur because the caim was already set and there was no way he would be cleaning up their mess. "Each kingdom has the same standard agreement with the Watch."

"And now we know better," Dire munched on her bacon happily. "They try to lie; they can try it in blood."

"Dire," Wolf warned.

"What-what does that mean?" Truth asked, speaking up for almost the first time since Young Bear had shoved him on the plane yesterday. "'Try it in blood'?"

"She meant that if they want to try lying than she will tie their tongue." Bear explained, a little shortly, "they can tell the truth or they can lie, and their tongue will literally tie itself in knots. It's kind of bloody."

"Also, mostly permanent," Dire added.

Wolf waited but was pleased when none of the senior members made an effort to mention that tongue-tying wasn't Dire's preferred form of punishment in such circumstances. Like yesterday, there was no reason to scar the trainees unnecessarily. "tell me about the case."

Keeper cleared her throat, "the initial reporter was a man by the name of Corry lane. He owns an apartment complex popular with the Maester students. So, when something weird was reported by the residents on the top floor he took it seriously and reached out to the Citadel's policing agency. They realized it was a matter of the higher mysteries and contacted us."

"So, we're likely to have to wade through a sea of wanna-be sorcerers before we can actually get to the site of whatever fucked up shit some kid got up to." Wail bit into his breakfast wrap aggressively. "Fantastic."

"It is what it is," Wolf said, washing the last of his breakfast down with the dregs of his mug. "Truth, Bear, are you finished?"

"Um," Truth froze in the action of grabbing more food.

"I am." Bear shoved away from the table.

"Finish," Wolf said to the younger man. "Don't eat too much, but don't skimp either, it needs to fill you for what might be some heavy magic use. Keeper, do you have the extra bags I asked for?"

The woman handed them over with a solemn nod, "I got them straight from the Quartermaster with my gear."

"Talk to Truth about it?" He asked as moved over to Bear, without waiting for Keeper to agree, but he knew she wouldn't chafe at that too much.

The fact of the matter was that Oathkeeper was about the only other person on the team he could trust to be straight with the Trainees. It wasn't that the others would lie, but Bull didn't do magic like anyone else, Widowswail was an arrogant sod with awful habits he got away with because he had reflexes like a cat, and Dire would give Truthspeaker nightmares. Young Bear was probably better off with them than Truth, but in a dangerous situation Truth would hesitate, Wolf could see it already. Now, he might hesitate and get someone killed, but the other members of Team 13 could more than handle it. Young Bear was actually worse off because she wouldn't hesitate, and she probably wouldn't flinch. She thought she knew more than most, and she did, but it wouldn't be enough if she didn't learn that she didn't know enough.

They never knew enough.

So, Wolf would watch Young Bear and wait for the moment she rushed in, so he could pull her back out by the skin of her teeth. And he would trust that their other trainee would be safe enough, taken care of by the rest of the team.

"What do you know about Lichenten?" Wolf started with as he made Young Bear lay out her equipment for inspection.

Each member of the Night's Watch put together a kit as they went through the introductory training for the Watch, but specialization came with hard work and the type of experience that left you bloody and screaming in the middle of the night.

Young Bear's kit was simple. It included more than most of the current members of the team, but she had a long way to go before she could rely on brute power and experience the way the others did.

Wolfe looked at the kit and noticed it was full. Every pocket and tie used for gear. He looked at Young Bear, her serious frown already in place again. “What are you wearing?”

“What do you mean?” She glanced down at herself and then at him. They both wore the uniform of the Watch.

Wolfe waved a hand over her kit. “Everything’s here. Every single thing in the standard place; are you wearing any protection at all?”

“I should-” Young Bear flushed when the quiet conversation from the breakfast table stopped. She shook her head, “What do I put on?”

“You know what we know. What would you choose?”

Young Bear ran her hand over the tools of their trade. Beaded leather and engraved metal, charms, sigils, and sachets all in their proper place. “There wasn’t a lot to go on. Uh - A mental defense and something against physical trauma?”

She pointed to the two charms that she thought might work and Wolfe considered them with the understanding that almost any of the options they were about to face would tear through them like they were made of paper.

“They're good options to start with, so put them on.” A little weak, but most trainees’ work was. He pulled his own kit out from his luggage and rolled it open next to his student's. It might as well have been three times the size. He was one of the few Sorcerers in the Watch who’s kit had grown with his education instead of shrunk. Of course, the others didn’t regularly face the kind of nightmares Team 13 did, either. “You're not prepared to face what this unit does. Perhaps we can lay that at Old Bear's feet or your teachers', but more realistically it's because we lost three of the Watch last night.” He could feel the eyes of the team on him. “So, I'm going to loan you some protection and when you survive this, you're going to figure out how to do it yourself. Understand?”

The young woman nodded, “Yes, Wolfe.”

“Good.”

Wolf had joined the Night's Watch before he'd even finished his primary education. There hadn’t been a choice in the matter, with the magical outbursts he’d been having it had been the Wall or the White Towers. Even as a young fourteen, Wolf had been Northern to his bones. The Wall and the Watch was the only choice. So, he had more options to offer Young Bear and in turn Truthspeaker. If Young Bear’s kit looked like this there was no reason to expect his to be any better. Finally, he settled on a charm Bull had made, it was very compatible with female magics and both Fox and Dire had used it frequently in the past.

Wolf offered a shield-shaped necklace, “This is a kienen. A sigil layered with first men runes, to all but the most powerful Others you're going to be practically invisible. It doesn't mean you can't get hurt, but most of the magic should just slide off.”

Dire pops up from behind Young Bear, “Which means, if we need someone to go and call for reinforcements, you have to do it.”

Young Bear scowled, “Why?”

“Because you'll be the only one capable of leaving without drawing the attention of the Other.” Wolf said, “Also, you're the youngest by far and I have no intention of bringing back your ashes. If I tell you to get back, to run, to call for help—you will do it.”

“I am a fully trained member of the Night's Watch!” The young woman huffed.

“You've also never been up against more than the training room before and a fucking lot of our job is based on instinct and experience.” Dire didn’t pull any punches, “So you do what we say, when we say it, and you live to try another day.”

She scowled, “I have no intention of dying.”

Wolf snorted, “Secret—no one does.”

She settled back in her seat fingering the borrowed talisman. “I get it now.”

Wolfe raised a brow, “What do you mean?”

Young Bear bit her lip before admitting, “I wondered why Old Bear would so readily send me off with a unit that might as well be grounded it's so fractured.”

“Hey now!” Bull called from the breakfast table, “The Night's Watch doesn't have much more capable Teams than us.” He waved at Keeper and Wail, “Especially because they were our competition.”

The girl waved a hand, “A lot of people think that it's just because of the power you have on hand. Individually, you all are like tanks. I'm not. But,” she tilted her head a little, “you-ah, you're better than just powerful, Wolfe.”

Wolfe wasn't particularly impressed. Old Bear had been using him to train up better members of the Night's Watch since he stepped through the front doors of Castle Black. Getting approval from the girl who might’ve been the man's niece wasn't a particular high point.

Dire snorted, “You're going to regret that.”

She blinked, “Why?”

“Just trust us.” Bull shook his head, “You're going to wish you'd stayed at home.”


End file.
